


Closed Doors

by thanksforthecrumb



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Denial, Emotions, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1468978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksforthecrumb/pseuds/thanksforthecrumb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was perfect, from the wary way he gripped his goblet and the way his hair fell messily above his forehead and the way he stood in the crowd but somehow apart and the way…damn.<br/>He was perfect, and she was fucked.</p>
<p>Kenna is in love with her husband. Which doesn't sound bad, really. Except that he will never be hers. And she will throw everything away for a man who is throwing everything away on another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> So Kenna has slowly become my favorite lady. I feel so bad for her. She's had her heart stomped on too often. She deserves someone who loves her as passionately as she's loved. I'm hoping that'll be Bash, but I can't see it happening, unfortunately. Anyway, just a bit of drabble to get my feelings for Kenna out. In some places (actually every part of the story but whatever right?) the writing is choppy and doesn't make much sense. It's supposed to. Kenna is confused and angry and hurt and I tried to show that. Sorry if I failed.

She was staring at him staring at Mary staring at Francis staring at Mary. It was horrible. She was at the bottom of the pile. The dregs. The trod upon. She’d fallen, hard and fast, all the way to the bottom. And there was no way she’d get up. She simply couldn’t.

He was perfect, from the wary way he gripped his goblet and the way his hair fell messily above his forehead and the way he stood in the crowd but somehow apart and the way… _damn_.

He was perfect, and she was fucked.

His green eyes were sad and pleading, and she couldn’t stop imagining his head tilting to look at her, to lock gazes so she could stare into his beautiful eyes. She wanted to go to him, to ask for a dance. She wanted to make him laugh so he would smile that smile at her. Just her. She wanted that small, crooked smirk pointed in her direction. She wanted his eyes to rove around the room and stop when they reached her. She wanted him to walk toward her slowly, never looking away. She wanted the world to slow down so she could look at him forever.

She wanted him to love her.

She wanted him to feel what she felt when she saw him — that unmistakable tug, that twinge in the stomach. The want, the desire. She wanted him to look at her with eyes of love. She wanted to walk up to him and spout out every single terrible, embarrassing, stupid, jumbled thought she had when she looked at him. And she wanted him to laugh his breathy laugh and smile and take her by the hand and tell her exactly what he felt when he saw her.

But she also wanted him to die. She wished he had been killed by his brother’s guards. She wished he’d never been born. She wished she’d never come to French Court.  She wished they’d never fucking met.

Why couldn’t he feel what she felt for him, damn it? And she couldn’t tell him, or else his sad, dark eyes would change into pitying eyes. He would look at her and feel bad that he’d caused a poor young girl to fall head over heels in love with a bastard. He would feel responsible for her, like a friend’s little sister. He would look out for her and pretend to laugh at her jokes.

And it didn’t matter that they were married. It didn’t matter that marriage lasted forever. No one had to love their marriage. They didn’t have to love the person on the other side. She certainly couldn’t ask him to try to love her. He was too far gone. He was obsessed with Mary. And, too late, she realized, she was quickly reaching the same point with him. Damn. Damn him. Damn him to hell and back.

She was sick of fucking lying to herself. She was sick of telling herself she didn’t care. Because she did care. Too much. Everything was too much.

Why was he so damn stupid? Couldn’t he tell he hurt her when he left to grovel at Mary’s feet and do her every wish and command? Couldn’t he tell how much she loved him, how badly she wanted him?

Why was _she_ so damn stupid? Of course he couldn’t tell. She buried her feelings and needled him with verbal jabs. She tried hard not to care.

Well, she was done with not caring. But then she wasn’t. Because she couldn’t tell him just how much she cared. She couldn’t.

It was all so difficult. So _fucking_ difficult. They were _married_ , for God’s sake. They had each other. Eternally. Except they didn’t. Because he was salivating after damn Mary. He was just barely within her grasp. But he would never be hers, despite their marital vows. He would never be anyone’s, because he would throw away everything for the chance to be with Mary.

_Well, you’re wasting your fucking time!_ She wanted to scream at him. Mary was forever in love with Francis. Theirs was a marriage that held actual love. And she’d never envied them for it, not really. She’d never needed to have love in a marriage. It was never really an option. And she’d never minded.

But then he was there. Suddenly. Suddenly and abruptly, he was a part of her life. And a heartbeat later he _became_ her life. Nothing mattered. Nothing. Except for him. And she wanted him. So, so, so, _so_ badly.

It was cruel. So incredibly cruel. Because the one thing she wanted she technically had. They were _married_. But there was no love, no infatuation. Not from his side of the marriage.

She was such a fool to fall in love. And this wasn’t even the first time. But she had a feeling this would be the last. She would take her love for him to her grave.

“Kenna? Kenna.” His voice was somewhat impatient as he shook her from her thoughts.

Her hand drifted to her mouth. “What?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Well, you’ve been standing outside the door for God knows how long. I came by our rooms and found you in the hall.”

_Our_ rooms. It was a small difference. It didn’t matter, really. Except it did. And she rejoiced at that little word _our_. They had something. No matter how small, it was a reminder that they shared something.

“Kenna.” He snapped her back to reality again.

She glanced at him, still distracted. “Sorry,” she muttered. She stared at his lips. God, how were they so damn _perfect_? 

His cheeks lifted as a small smile flitted onto his lips. She gazed at him. He breathed in sharply and quickly, and she wrenched her eyes from him to the floor. “I suppose we’d better go inside, then.”

Her eyes darted back to his and flashed away guiltily. “Yes.”

He opened the door and waited as she walked in. He followed her, but stood in front of the entrance with his hands clasped awkwardly. He started to turn back to the door, hesitating with his back to her.

“Where are you going?” she asked nervously, afraid of the answer.

He didn’t turn back to look at her. He kept his hand resting on the door handle. “Out,” he answered with a pause.

She said nothing as he waited for her reply. She stared at his back, unmoving. He opened the door and walked out with a squeal of his weight on the wood floor, never looking back.

The candles flickered warmly in the room, but she felt completely, icily cold inside. The twinge in her stomach when she thought of him had turned into a dark, dank pit. She hardly dared to breathe.

“Don’t be long,” she whispered to the closed doors.


End file.
